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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377069">#32</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schweet/pseuds/Schweet'>Schweet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Would I Even Tell Her [32]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Metal health, poem, progress - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:06:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schweet/pseuds/Schweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Would I Even Tell Her [32]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605673</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>#32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hello Elizabeth</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This little experiment of mine has gone much further than I thought it ever would</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I thought I would write one little thing</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One shitty little thing</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that would be it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here I am almost one year later</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still writing to you</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I thought this would be just a strange exercise inspired by therapy</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That I would abandon once I got bored</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like I do so many other things</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here I am almost one year later</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still writing to you</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If I had known the peace it would bring</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the way I would be able to understand my heart better just by pretending to talk to you</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I had even a hint of the progress I would make in one year</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just by writing letters to you that I will never allow you to see</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would have begun this years ago</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would have begun this the moment I saw the demons in the glint of the razor I held in my hand</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One year ago I wrote to you in desperation and desolation</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year ago I thought I was headed back down the path to another overdose</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year ago I was convinced only the memory of you would listen</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I started by telling you how I ached for a love I thought I would never deserve</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I’m telling you how I ache for yours</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A love I know I will never deserve</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I started by telling you about how shitty each and every day was</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How after the best semester of my life, I had to acclimate to being lonely again</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About how I screamed the entire two hour drive home because of the unfairness of it all</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I’m telling you about the friends I have kept in contact with and how their miniature faces on my phone screen keep me sane</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I started by telling about how She destroyed me</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I’m telling you about how I healed myself</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I started by writing to you in the notes of my last phone when the sadness hit me so hard I had to tell someone immediately otherwise I would fall apart right then and there in the middle of the cafeteria in front of god and the NOVA nighthawk</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I write to you nightly</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I started by bringing you onto the battlefield in my mind, using your imaginary words and memory to form a phalanx against the poisoned arrows of my designated demons</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I write to you about pleasant things now</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, a lot of it is unrequited love feelings and shit</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But at least it’s no longer about how much I want to die</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because now I can write to you about how I am excited to be alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One year ago I thought I was broken and destined to be alone</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I can be proud in the pink, purple, and blue velvet that has been sewn into the curtains of my heart</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So thank you for always being there</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you for always offering advice in the form of silence, allowing me to place my own feet in the next stirrup on the hill I climb</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And thank you for always listening</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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